Chapter 14
The Huntress
The hunted became the huntress
The hunter became the prey
- Conquest, Jack White
She could not really help it.
She just kept chuckling, almost despite the gravity of entire situation. Here she was. Hermione Granger. The nerdy Mudblood. In a Muggle home. With four Death Eaters. Who were not there to hurt or kidnap her, no; who followed her command and looked at her with something that slowly began to grow into grumpy admiration.
And a wounded Bellatrix Lestrange, sorry, Black, occupied her living room sofa.
And Hermione had just fed her one of her battle prep talks, actually convincing the woman to fight for Voldemort, even though Voldemort had ordered her dead.
Yes, the world had become such a place that even dreams seemed normal, even those most twisted products her mind would sometimes fling at her seemed rather sane and ordinary, in comparison to this new situation.
An impending headache, an unlucky trait she had picked from her mother, the slow advance of migraine manifesting itself in growing throbbing in her temple, Hermione left the living room, walked outside and sat on the doorstep, disillusionment and Muggle-repelling charms ensuring her unlucky neighbors would not stumble into any of Hermione's shenanigans. She lit a cigarette and reveled in a patch of sunlight that fell directly upon her spot; were she a cat, she would purr, being human, she only blinked lazily and looked around; cars gleamed in the sun, its ray sliding across metal and glass, reflecting in billion specks of light; it was eerie and homey at the same time, like a ghost town haunted by its former occupants.
'That was pretty good.' a masculine voice, either baritone or bass, she could never tell when the fine line of voice classification was straddled, notes from both sides mixing.
She blinked and turned and saw Dolohov and his easy smile, which reminded her of Sirius Black, yet carried less smugness (she never told Harry nor she ever would, be she always had a strong dislike for the man, even though innocent and wrongly incarcerated, he was tainted with some haughtiness that was of a person victimized; the never ending story of I-force-you-to-feel-bad-about-yourself-and-me-because-I-spend-many-years-in-Azkaban-for-crime-I-never-committed-and-you-did-not-yet-look-how-well-I-am-coping), was absolutely less annoying.
'What was?' she shielded her eyes with her cigarette-free hand and he smiled again and walked towards her until his thigh was almost brushing her head; he halted and flung himself beside her, on the warm steps, legs stretched in a nearly boy-like fashion.
'The whole thing.' he looked at her, metallic brown eyes catching her, conveying somethings undertone, a strange mixture of emotions, Hermione would rather not read 'That was real good.' he repeated, his eyes now more questioning than stating.
Hermione was frozen, lost and spinning, for few seconds, what felt like infidelity was also compelling - and she finally allowed herself to lean a little closer in his direction, her nostrils filled with his scent (smoke, metal, oak, cold river, grass), and he also inched towards her, until their arms and shoulders dug into one another and they could not move less they wanted to bypass the ambiguity and head on for the obvious.
It was always this very moment, she found most appealing. Not kissing, not sex; those seconds of utmost concentration, when world would narrow into tiny fragment; world compressed into certain pieces: lips, breath, skin; the world where lips are inches apart and eyes still search for permission, when other's breath would breeze into her own face and the world was about to spin with a kiss; the tentative tension, more rewarding that the act itself; she never like the concept of plenitude or climax.
Because what follows is nothingness.
It reminded her, almost, forcibly of a Muggle painting that had her really uncomfortable; Bacchus, clad in white, sat by a table littered with platters and food, with the air of someone who had just finished an all night-long party, or was just sitting through the mad hours of dawn, when everyone is ecstatic with delirium of alcohol and late hour, staring at nothing in particular, his expression serene or sated, the epitome of plenitude and climax - yet his eyes were the eyes that had seen the abyss, or rather were the eyes of someone who carried the abyss within himself.
'Yeah.' she said, knowing she ought to reply, but was too lost inside her head to bother with more.
'Something on your mind?' he turned his head, looked at her and she returned the favor; Antonin Dolohov's - the notorious Death Eater's eyes - were merely concerned, a playful glint still present, yet pressed back by genuine... what was it? Care?
'Just lost in thoughts.' she shrugged, trying to ease it off. 'No biggie.'
'Enlighten me. Maybe we'll figure something out.' there was this smile once again, not flirtatious, friendly and she instantly returned the notion, suddenly feeling a little off with the lack of flirting, almost disappointed and, at the same time, relieved.
'Nah, some unimportant Muggle existentialist pangs in the ass. Nothing tactic and nothing that can be formed into a story.'
'Oh. Like deeps thoughts on meaning of life? Yeah, imagine I get them too.' despite the words that could be harsh, Dolohov was smirking rather softly and then it hit her like a hammer to the head.
It was so easy. To deprive them of their humanity, dehumanize enemies, mark them all psychopaths for following a man whose inferiority complex led to a disaster. Yet it always had been that way: behind every monster there was a human being, something molded by hurt, misshapen by emotions, stuck in its anger or pain. And she felt a pang of pity; balancing on fine thin line between becoming a monster herself and preserving her humanity, Hermione was no more a stranger to the odd heaviness of a Death Eater's existence.
'May I ask you a question?' the words left her mouth in an unfamiliar slur.
'Sure.' he shrugged, looked away for moments, eyes squinted, then turned once again and looked at her.
'Why did you join him?'
The silence was heavy, yet there was no notion of anger on his face. Dolohov looked deep in thoughts, brows furrowed and mouth suddenly thin, some amount of stress and, maybe, sorrow, showing on his face.
'I don't know anymore.' he said very softly, as if each word was excruciatingly painful to utter 'His ideas, you know, were grand. One of those that get in your head. The more you dream about doing something grand about your life, the easier it is for you to fall for an ideology. I was your age, I think, when I landed in Azkaban for me beliefs. I felt like a hero, you know?' his gaze locked with hers and suddenly he looked very vulnerable, like a boy lost in men's war 'The martyr for a righteous cause, his most loyal and most fierce, the lieutenant that was eager to do anything to prove his mettle.' he shook his head, swallowed, Adam's Apple moving very visibly, the short hair on his throat and chin moving with it, but he carried on, husky and hurt 'When you come from a world where you are met with endless expectations, a world you feel you must preserve, because it's diminishing right in front of your eyes - because it is, intermarriages, dwindling magic, you know, sons of first cousins prone to insanity, the slow decay of grand names - and a man comes who says he'll do right about us, help us save the splendor of a world already gone, it's almost easy to join, to kill, to torture. First kill - you puke. Second kill - your soul shatters. Third - you keep questioning yourself as to whether this truly is right. The more you kill, the more confused you are. And then you simply - I don't know, I can't wrap my head around it.'
'It's easy' she said, tears she could no more shed stinging in the corners of her eyes, her body torn between reaching for him and moving away, so she kept very still 'to... embrace the opposite emotion.'
'Yeah.' Dolohov nodded 'What was compassionate, becomes cruel.'
'Why not anymore?' she hurried, her chest expanding with a painfully intense emotion.
'Wish I could say because I've changed or cracked. Would be lie, though. I'm trapped, you know. I observe my actions as if I were someone else, yet I do what I do and no more feel anything about it; I've alienated a part of myself it seems. His course of action' his hand gestured in the air 'is illogical. The purity crusade, no matter how grand it felt, was just a folly, a fool's dream. Guess we just wanted to shock the world once again and go out in a puff; a guerrilla against history itself, as spectacular as hopeless. But now it's suicide and a path to destruction.'
'When I kill, I don't feel anything.' she said, words spilling from her mouth almost despite her will or consent 'I know it's wrong, I get the aftershocks and know I should feel bad, even though I don't. Transgression.'
'What?' he looked at her with surprise 'You've lost me now.'
'You know - hang on, I'm gonna smoke, it's easier to speak about life if you have a cigarette around -
'One for me too?'
She handed him the pack.
'So, about this transgression...?' he lit the cigarette and shot her a small smile.
'You know. There was this Muggle a couple of centuries ago. He wrote a manual of sorts. Through torture, humiliation, sexual abuse - and the oppressor was honor bound to accept and receive exactly the same treatment as his victims - one was supposed to, how do I put it, outgrow his humanity. You know, push the borders until you reach the last border of what makes you human - like going through a mirror. What is on the other side, nobody knows. But it's this pull of embracing the extremity, pushing forward until you undo the very structure of reality. The whole thing - it's as deep as totally fucked up - is grand in that sick way. Anyway, I know about the killing. First it breaks your heart, then you cross to the other side of what you feel, and you actually enjoy it, first the pain you feel when killing, then just the act.'
'Mudblood. What are you talking about?' the voice that spoke from behind their backs made her jump. She turned wildly and saw a very sour Bellatrix standing in the door frame, staring at them with obvious contempt.
'How long you've been standing there?' she asked, feeling like a deer in the headlights.
'Not long, if you're worried about your dirty secrets. Just something about crossing the other side of what you feel - is that some Muggle thing, by the way?'
'Bellatrix. The ray of light, as always.' Dolohov also turned, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a very pronounced scowl on his face.
'Shut up, Dolly. You should know better than associate yourself with filth. What's that, you've become a Mudblood lover? Or this one's' she shot Hermione a dirty look, lips drawn in a thin line of obvious distaste.
'None of your business, Bella dear.' he leered at her 'Unless you feel jealous?'
'I'd rather mate with a pig.' another dirty look shot towards Hermione.
'What is it you want?' she let out an annoyed sigh 'You came here to socialize or you just want something?'
'Socialize? With the likes of you? Are you mental?'
'I've thought so. What do you want then?'
Bellatrix sighed and lifted her gaze to the heavens, as if silently complaining about a stupid child or someone's erratic behavior, almost praying for the necessary patience, and then stared at her, charcoal eyes glued to her own, probing, testing.
'I need to cleanse myself.' she finally admitted and sounded like a queen announcing she has complied to the conquering army's request.
'Let me finish my cigarette and I'll show you. OK?
'Pray for my patience, while you test it with your petty Muggle cig-a-rets.' Bellatrix looked almost oddly composed, her expression rather bored than aggressive.
The woman who lashed out almost on minute's basis, was now probably too weary to throw insults, scream, or try to tackle her every time. There was an air of defeat around her, of course, neither of the women would ever acknowledge its presence, at least not vocally.
Forcing herself to ignore Bellatrix, she turned her back once again, the woman merely emitting a 'Tsk. Tks.' of disapproval at the notion, presumably affronted by the 'audacity of a Mudblood'.
They finished smoking in silence, Bellatrix like an ominous shadow, the Boggart in the closet, inevitable, unmentionable yet nagging at their minds.
'Antonin? Would you gather all the guys for later? We need a chitchat.' she asked him nearly in a whisper, and he nodded and winked at her. Getting to their feet, they once again scanned the area, but everything was tranquil, if not eerily still - as if a storm was slowly brewing, sucking in all the air.
Slightly fazed, Hermione motioned at Bellatrix to follow her, and stole another peak and Dolohov, who had a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth; she led the way and showed her the bathroom, the woman once again standing in the door frame, hips canted, eyes disapproving. She explained her how the shower worked and put a towel on the washing machine that stood beside the bathtub and usually served as a table, its flat structure almost begging to be abused in such manner.
When her parents had still been Grangers, the top of the washing machine would be covered with mother's cosmetics, towels, father's books and random items they would sometimes accidentally drag to bathroom. Hermione always had feared she would, one unlucky day, stumble upon a used condom or something equally distressing.
'Why are you staring at that thing?' Bellatrix's shrill voice felt like a bucket to the head. She flinched and turned to face the woman.
'It's a washing machine.' she brushed off the question.
'I don't care as long it's not some weird Muggle contraption that will -'
'If you worry for your safety, do not. It's safe.' she cut in, much briskly than she intended, her thoughts still filled with a stinging longing for the warm haze of those days.
'Mudblood.' Bellatrix's mind probably was swimming in similar waters, her black eyes looking at her with something that resembled suspicion 'You live here by yourself?'
'Yeah.'
'Your Muggle parents? What's become of them?' black eyes narrowed and chin protruded challengingly.
'They're gone.' the voice was weaker that it should have been, she swallowed and stared back, defiance rising like bile in her throat.
'Dead, are they?' Bellatrix's snicker was the last straw.
She took a deep breath and forced herself not to attack the woman who had invaded her privacy and her past in such brusque manner, a brute among other brutes, the cruel, sick creature that clung to pain and reveled in slaughter.
The woman who had been so badly broken, that she became twisted - to survive; like bones that break in too many places and never regrow properly, leaving the person crippled, disfigured.
'No.' she steadied her voice and emptied her eyes - she did not have to see her reflection, to know she had succeeded, it was palpable in the way her body eased up, emotions once again overruled by sheer will 'I send them away. None of your concern as to where. You know why. Now, if you'll excuse me -' she tried to make a beeline for the exit, but Bellatrix moved and blocked the frame.
'Well?' her eyebrow shot up as she halted in front of the older woman.
'Oooh! Icky Muddy send mummy and daddy away scared that the big bad Death Eaters kill them. So sweet I nearly sickened myself, flith.' whatever flinched in Bellatrix's eyes - and it did, Hermione was on top of her classes not for being a boring study-it-all, but for the ability to observe and absorb within seconds - was now gone, replaced by the all-familiar contempt.
'No.' her voice almost cracked, fury coiling within her like serpent ready to strike 'Scared she'd have to kill all the big bad Death Eaters and their families, if they had done so, and become like them herself.'
Bellatrix - once again it lasted for a heartbeat - looked surprised, then cackled softly.
'You? You'd have the guts?' she almost doubled over with her mad laughter, whether caught up in her act or truly amused unknown to anyone, probably herself as well.
'Test me.' Hermione answered through gritted teeth and forced her way out of the bathroom, brutally brushing against the woman's skinny shoulder, bumping her in the frame and earning an angry yowl.
The meeting took place in the kitchen. They conjured chairs and sat around the table, both Death Eaters and Hermione familiar with her taking the top seat. It felt almost like all the Resistance meetings she had held throughout all years, only difference being her parents' house and new people. Dolohov sat to her right, Bellatrix to her left (she was the only one to scowl, frown and huff at Hermione's place of sitting, but when Dolohov claimed the first lieutenant's seat as his, she fumed), beside Antonin there was Snape, beside Bellatrix Rowle and Scabior.
'Right' she said, her voice instantly slipping into commanding officer's 'we're meeting tonight in a rather small squad. There are two things that I shall discuss with you during this meeting. First the formalities. Being the first Death Eater to approach me on his own volition' her eyes met Snape's and the man nodded his agreement 'Dolohov, who's proven himself invaluable, will become my first lieutenant, Severus Snape his second. In my absence you answer to Dolohov, in his, to Snape. Clear?' they all nodded their consent apart from Bellatrix, who kept glaring intimidatingly, probably trying to convey her disgust and anger at being omitted 'Second, I wish to debrief you on the current state of affairs and plan our next moves. We have two main objectives -as of now -and they are intertwined. We've lost Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, who are invaluable assets to our case. Objective is simple: we find them. While we do so, we need to track traitors down - you shall all see what I'm talking about quite soon - and enroll more people. What we need is an army' gasps all around the room, Bellatrix's eyebrows losing themselves in her hair 'Sadly, the Muggles are aware of our existence. And hostile. We're not invading Muggle world, that's a fool's dream' her gaze sough out Dolohov's who send her the smallest of smile, approval written all over his face 'We're merely going to destroy all their intelligence on us - and all their means to destroy us. It's a difficult thing, because we have to act in and through the shadows, without alerting anybody to what's really happening.'
'What about rescuing the Dark Lord, Mudblood? You forgot? Or were these just empty words to get my attention?' Bellatrix's hatred was very pronounced now and Hermione stared at her, flabbergasted before she understood - and pitied.
Here sat a woman betrayed so many times, she suspected a trap anywhere she went. Even her Lord had led her astray - but since he probably had been the only one bothering to keep his cover of safety intact for a long time, she trusted only him, even disgraced and discarded.
'May I?' Dolohov asked Hermione, his tone most official and detached, the tone of first lieutenant who has to handle an insubordinate soldier.
'Please do.' she nodded her consent, rather curious.
'This is rescuing the Dark Lord. Are you thick enough not to get it, Bellatrix?'
'What Muggle-loving nonsense is that?' Bellatrix cackled, her head tilted and pupils dilated in a display of mock insanity 'And here I am, considered crazy by the whole lot of you!'
'If the Dark Lord goes against the Muggles, his fate is sealed.' Hermione spoke out, her tone cold and commanding, the tone she used to drown all scuffles between her own men 'If we prevent the war, he stands a chance.'
'That's like - stupid, childish - it's like - It's like bloody Divination, you idiots!' Bellatrix almost leaped out of her chair, this time evidently furious 'If you disobeyed the Dark Lord's order just to - play like - just to drag me into this lunacy, then you're very well -I'm out, I'm going to hand myself in and disclose your location.'
'Sit down, Bellatrix.' she rarely used it, this voice. It reminded her too much of Voldemort's. Yet it came out her mouth, cold, ringing, almost disembodied, the order so sharp, it cut the air like knives. And they all reacted like any other person who had ever heard it, they shuddered, uncomfortable with its metallic ring. Even Bellatrix froze, her eyes wide and suddenly lost either for words or action.
'I have decided to avoid all the prep talk.' she said in her normal, business-like voice, the feeling of absolute domination leaving her body, dissipating through all her pores 'Instead, I'll show you the whole thing.'
She flooded them with images. The Battle of Hogwarts in full sway and sudden explosion. Tanks advancing. Voldemort's fury as he flung himself in merciless attack on the oncoming troops, Bellatrix at his right, cackling in mad joy. The sudden bullet and Voldemort's lifeless body falling to the ground, Bellatrix's wail of fury, her capture. The Slaughter of Hogwarts. Scabior's beheading.
She watched him to see his reaction; he looked faint and sick, eyes bulging with unmistakable terror, his complexion suddenly wax-like and green.
She showed them the Pacification of Lyon and rains of napalm from the sky. The rescue of Bellatrix and Narcissa. Draco's and Ginny's wedding, held in a deserted bunker in Northern Ireland. The Battle of Paris, where French and English wizards stood together for the first time; the heap of bodies it resulted in. The EMP.
She saw Dolohov's face as he watched himself unable to do magic, waving his wand to no avail, only to be brought down by a bullet the next second, his face eternally frozen in what looked like the ultimate surprise.
The Assassination of The Queen. The Raid on Parliament.
She watched herself throwing a grenade into a room full of ministers and felt it, once again, the bitterness rising in her mouth.
Attacks on police stations, skirmishes on the streets; her borderline insane raid at a government facility - watching it, she felt as if she was watching Mission Impossible instead of her own life - and setting free its unlucky inhabitants. The loss of contact means, the flight of continental wizards, their rallying with her.
She showed them Ireland; the mushroom of doom in the sky; she relived the conversation held in the cave - the one where remaining Muggle-borns explained the idea behind nuclear weaponry.
She heard an extract of her own speech.
You are free men. If you want to flee, no one will stop you. I, however, ask of you now: will you fight with me? There will be no victory. Only death. But at least we'll die on our feet. Unconquered - merely killed. Free - to shape your own fate.
Their answer, the sharp response that rung with pride of those who are ready to die:
We're with you. Now and forever.
The Last Stand. Draco's sacrifice. The bullet that hit her; the jet blue sky and trembling, bloodied hands that held a wand and a stone, dry lips muttering over and over again the portkey incantation. The glorious sight of Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile loaded with nuclear fury tearing through the sky, its beauty incomparable to anything else. The explosion, the sensation of burning, the blinding light and the roar, the force of impact shredding her body - and the activation of portkey.
The show ended with her crashing into Charity Burbage.
Then she moved to current events; escape, kidnapping, hospital, Bellatrix's rescue, Merigold, the drive back, apparition to the motel, the discovery of treason, the flight, the attack, the chopper and the Malfoys' disappearance, interactions with Bellatrix - and the decision, to jump the leap of faith.
The silence was heavy.
She watched them.
They were stunned.
And then the spell was broken. Scabior stood up shakily from his seat and vomited all over his part of the table, his robe, shoes, the floor.
'Now you know what we're up against.' she said, trying to sound composed and uncaring.
'Yes.' Dolohov's ashen face turned towards her, his eyes suddenly huge and dark 'What do we do?'
'I've had an idea.' she admitted softly 'But it's rather bad.'
'Go on, Hermione.' Snape added, speaking up for the first time this day 'Whatever it is, I'm with you. Now and forever.' his mouth tugged slightly with a smile that was inscrutable.
'You put the Trace on my wand. This wand.' she pulled it out and laid on the table in front of her 'And I will get myself snatched.'
'What?' there was an uproar as people voiced their surprise.
'While Snape goes on a propaganda mission, rallying people to our cause - yes, show them your memories, you know which- ' she send him a quick glance and he nodded, thin-lipped and sullen 'You'll be my rescue team.'
'What if you get separated from the wand? While you rot in some madman's cage, it could be taken anywhere.' Dolohov protested vehemently.
'This would be more than perfect.' she smiled at his distress, trying to look reassuring 'Because, as of now, my wand is more important than me. You see, wherever it goes, it will go to where Ollivander is. And he is essential, if we want to thwart them.'
'It is a sound plan. With one major drawback.' Snape spoke, his voice soft 'If Burbage indeed is the traitor you think she is, she'll know it's a trap. She won't fall for it and make sure either you die or are sent somewhere were no one will be able to rescue you.'
'Indeed.' she nodded 'But thankfully, we have Bellatrix among us.'
'What?' both Snape and Dolohov shuddered.
'Madam Black' she addressed the woman with a smirk 'I hope you'll corner and attack me in some public space. Public enough to attract Muggle authorities.'
'With a pleasure, Muddy.' the cruel sneer that appeared on her lips was almost distressing, cold hatred burning in her eyes.
'You see' she addressed the room 'I was in such a hurry, I never told Charity where we're going. She had no clue we were rescuing Bellatrix.'
'Besides' she added in an afterthought 'there is a slight chance I will end up with the Malfoys. If we're lucky, there aren't enough facilities, as of yet.'
'Very well. What about you? Is that some kind of stupid Gryffindor act of valor?' it was Snape, his face growing gaunter and gaunter with each passing minute. 'Noble sacrifice?'
'Nah' she waved her hand, earning few smirks 'I'm kinda past that. We'll break out.'
'You say it like it's an easy thing.' Dolohov objected, his hands nervously scraping against the table.
'I haven't mentioned it in the memory I showed you. But I was caught myself, early during the War. Ginny and Narcissa led the rescue mission, while Draco was leading the backup squad. With luck, I'll end up in the same place. It's magically warded, some sort of Secret Keeper Oath mixed with Fidelius Charm, I can't comprehend its location - even the memory is repressed, I barely got some smithereens of it, mostly pictures that don't make much sense, bah, I have to focus really hard to even remember the memory of it - but maybe, luckily, I'll be able to break myself out. If I focus enough I might remember more. And you know that what enhances a memory is reliving the situation.'
'You see, this is our advantage. My memory might be the key to our victory.'
And she smirked at them, a fully blown smirk on her face.
A calm night, chirping sounds from neatly-trimmed hedges, crescent moon hanging in the sky, the atmosphere of midsummer's night. Hermione sat on the steps and smoked, staring ahead and not really seeing anything at all.
Memory. Such a tender thing. Easy to manipulate, easy to crack, easy to snack.
'Mudblood.' a husky voice returned her from her musings. She did not even have to turn and look to know who was standing behind her.
'Bellatrix.' she acknowledged the woman calmly 'How can I help you?'
'You're using those cig-a-rets?'
'Yes.' she nodded, her back still turned to the woman.
There was an air of uncertainty around them. It was not unpleasant.
'Your plan is mad.' a grunt of disapproval.
'Maybe.'
'You're insane, Mudblood. You are insane past any sanity checkpoint. You will rot away somewhere there. We should strike. Strike now, strike hard; does preemptive strike ring a bell?' slow rise of fury.
'Yes.'
'We should strike them before they're ready.'
'No.'
Silence.
'It is bad.' Bellatrix's voice grew closer and the woman sided with Hermione, standing on the top of the stairs, canted hips and a sour expression.
Its sourness was almost tentative, as if the woman was looking for the proper expression but could not find it, so instead she resigned to something she felt familiar with.
'The future, I mean.' she added, probably presuming Hermione was too dumb, being a Mudblood and filth, to comprehend.
'Yes.'
'What's with the monosyllabic responses, eh? Cat got your tongue, Mudblood?' the jibe was instant and prominent, yet almost defensive in its outburst.
'I've talked enough, I think.' the cocked her head and gazed at the woman standing beside.
'I hate your Muggle neighborhood! she hissed 'All I want to do is blow it all up! Icky Bella hurting Muddy's playfriends!' she snickered and cackled, tongue moisturizing her lips.
'Ohm.' she said, any other response lost on her. 'Well, don't.'
'Why not? Icky Bella luvs her damage! And Muggles deserve to die.'
'Would you go after pure blood housewives? And boring blokes with silly jobs?'
The question caught her off her guard.
'No. Maybe. Why?' Bellatrix looked at her as she had gone mad.
'Because this' she gestured with the hand she held her cigarette with it, the tip of blurred by the movement until it was no longer a speck but a small reddish ray 'is its Muggle counterpart. We're not really that different, at least not on this level. We're all equally petty and narrow-minded - and heroic and good or bad.'
'Nonsense.' Bellatrix snapped but did not carry on.
'We're all humans.' she looked at the woman steadily 'Nothing more but mere mortals whose dreams usually are bigger than their abilities. We're all as lost and sad as each and every one of us. There were many Dark Lords throughout the history, magical and Muggle. Now, they're just dust in the wind, a memory turned into a tale, repeated so often it becomes a lie.'
'That's the type of Muggle nonsense the Dark Lord will eradicate once he is victorious, silly creature. Before embracing his destiny. Immortality.'
'He will never be immortal.' her words were no louder than a breath, but Bellatrix heard them nonetheless - and snarled.
'You think your precious Potter will stop him?'
'No.' she looked up, once again locking her eyes with Bellatrix's 'Nor is it important.'
'What. Do. You. Mean. Stupid girl?' Bellatrix's face was contorted with the same fury she had seen so many times.
'He may achieve' she shrugged 'eternal life. He may achieve immunity to sickness or aging or most spells. That's not immortality, though.'
'What nonsense is that? Tell me, then, tell me what is this thing -immortality?'
'Immortality is to never die.'
'What?'
'Something that may never die, be it by spell or age or weapon or any other means, because it is outside of death and time; this is immortality and nothing else.'
'What?' Bellatrix repeated, apparently gob-struck.
'Whatever had been born within time, cannot transcendent outside it.I'm sure you're familiar with the theory that eternity is simply being outside time?'
'Is this some Muggle- ?' Bellatrix sighed in disapproval, not even bothering to finish her sentence.
'I'm quite sure a wizard had agreed with that statement, sometime in the early medieval. I've ran across a text long time ago.'
'Probably a Mudblood. Carry on.'
'Look, Bellatrix. Let's say... the gods. You're familiar with mythologies? Times were that we shared them alike.'
'I'm not the bookworm like your petty self, but yes.' a snarl, contempt mixed with interest, interest tainted with the sensation of its wrongness (a pure-blood can't be interested in Mudblood's words, surely that was the line of thoughts).
'Fine. Then look. Where they immortal? Was Odin immortal? Did he die?'
'During Ragnarok, yes; but before -?' obvious discomfort coloring her voice, Bellatrix shifted.
'Doesn't matter when. Only matters he did.'
'Then fine, by your definition he did not possess the gift of immortality, Mudblood, but you're twisting my words -somehow.'
'Am I? It's called logic, you know? Something most of your merry folk refuse to apply.'
'Logic is for the weak. Why would a wizard who can create things and change things by merely a flick of his wand, a wish, and a talent need logic?'
'Because it's humane.' the answer was fierce, fiercer than she intended to 'I'm sure we disagree here the most' she carried on, much calmer now 'where you would claim power, I would claim knowledge because power without knowledge is barren, like a child playing with -with -shit.'
'Silly Mudblood lost her words.' the familiar coot of disdain.
'Dumbledore' her voice felt raw like all the passion burned it and scorched 'believed love to be greatest trait of mankind. What makes a man great, is his ability to love, he would say. I disagree. Love makes us silly and reckless and erratic -and cruel, because we only see the object of our intentions. You'd probably say power. I, however, say awareness. The ability to think in abstract. The gift of overruling chaos. We, mankind, are capable of defeating chaos, Bellatrix. By creating order.'
Silence.
'We're nothing, Bellatrix. You and me and your Dark Lord and all the Dark Lords in the history -we're nothing. A blink of an eye and we're gone, as insignificant, as all those people that walked and lusted and loved before us. Even the gods have died -in the end.'
Her own voice was now almost soothing, a lullaby of impending finality like a balm to all the tension.
'The gods of Olympus, the gods of Asgard, they were eternally youthful. But they could die. They could be felled by superior magic or power. Immortality, pure and undiluted, is simply outside of human grasp. Because whatever dwells within time, is bound by time. And time, Bellatrix, means endless possibility; Ouroboros, the endless chain of action and reaction. No man can undo it, we were all born into it, we are all trapped within the same circle. And all that remains of all that, one day, will be dust in the wind. All that there is, ever was and ever will be, is now.'